I sought the trails of South and North,
I wandered East and West;
But pride and passion drove me forth
And would not let me rest.
And still I seek, as still I roam,
A snug roof overhead;
Four walls, my own; a quiet home. . . .
"You'll have it--_when you're dead_."
MacBean is one of Bohemia's victims. It is a country of the young. The
old have no place in it. He will gradually lose his grip, go down and
down. I am sorry. He is my nearest approach to a friend. I do not make
them easily. I have deep reserves. I like solitude. I am never so
surrounded by boon companions as when I am all alone.
But though I am a solitary I realize the beauty of friendship, and on
looking through my note-book I find the following: